Mikkal, Book 2: Soldier's Fortune
by Snake Doctor
Summary: The Third War has begun. Prince Arthas has assassinated his father and the Scourge now control the capital city. With the government overtaken by the dead, the citizens have been left to fend for themselves. Starving and angry, two Hearthglen orphans turn to the only organized resistance left: The Silver Hand.
1. Prologue: Fighting Past the End

The army was on the move.

Leading the way were hulking monstrosities of death and disease, golems made from stitched and mismatched human parts. The end result looked like they were slapped together by a child with vague notions of human anatomy and an overactive imagination. Their roars filled the morning air and sang the sweetest song to my flesh-hungering mind. Those abominations paved the road for me. Literally. Their great size and Plague-riddle bodies carved a path through the forest almost a mile long, leaving nothing but black spoiled earth underneath. Everywhere the Plague went, life left. Nothing would grow from that blighted soil ever again. Powder dust was kicked up by our marching feet, nearly blotting out the sun overhead. It was so thick it would have choked me, if I was actually breathing.

The village had awoken to a picture perfect morning. It was autumn. The forest trees around us were decorated with their yearly red and orange patterns, staining the surrounding in a rusted gold color. The beauty was not lost on my other half. He marveled at the colors, enjoyed the sound of the wind blowing through those leaves. The wind was also singing a song, a different one that reminded him of another time, of a past that seemed a lifetime ago. In some ways, it truly was. I thought upon that as the order for halt was called. I rose up on my legs and sniffed the air, looking for the prey I had been promised.

Behind me came a group of robed men wielding strange staves that reeked of shadow magic. Their robes stunk of it as well, covered with glowing violet runes of power. They moved amongst us, waving their hands over our brows and muttering words of a language I did not understand. One of them came to me and smiled wide through his bushy beard. His skin was gray, his hair as white as mountain snow. He extended his arm and placed it across my forehead, granting his blessing of protection and strength. I felt power returning to my aching and rotting limbs and growled with pleasure as I felt the might behind them. I would feast well today.

Sudden, burning hatred overtook me. That man, and others like him, had made me this beast. They and their allies, this army I was a part of, had ransacked my kingdom and my country. They had destroyed my home, had destroyed me. I wanted to leap among them, lash out with my claws, pull them close and rip out their throats and paint the trees red with their evil blood –

_I'll hunt you down…_

_Spineless shits…_

_I will gut you…_

_Rip your flesh like paper…_

_Murder you…_

_End your Light damned lives..._

I tossed my head. Meaningless words, pure gibberish. Those men were living, yes, but not prey. Silent whispers from another told me that. The whispers soothed me and slowly, the anger passed.

I moved up quickly, making my way towards the front with the abominations. It was my favorite spot, viciously sought by my peers and fellows. The early bird gets the worm, as they say. In this case, the first ghoul in line got the best morsels. I crouched on all fours and waited impatiently, eager for the slaughter to begin. I wanted it more than I could describe. The feeling that came with it, the rush, the thrills of the hunt, the victory in the kill, it was all so liberating. I wanted to feel my hands close around my quarry, I wanted to see my claws rip them apart like paper, I wanted to feel the meat slide down my throat and taste the blood. I was a crazed dog on a leash. Let me loose. Free me. Please!

Then came the signal.

The abominations ripped through the pitiful barricades and tore into the village defenders. I noticed in passing we were fighting elves this time. I paused only to confirm with The Master that they were, indeed, my prey, and rushed forward. I leaped and dug my claws into the back of an abomination as I scrambled up and over its broad back, launching myself off his head and right on top of an armored elf. One powerful hand held down his sword arm while the other slapped his helm off his head and clawed his face apart. I tried to yank his armor off to get to the meat underneath and howled with frustration when I could not.

_Stopstopstop - _

Voices, voices, always voices. I stood up and angrily threw the screaming elf into the crowd of undead behind me. I was livid now. I had acquired a target and had been denied my prize. I was determined to make sure this did not happen again. I scoured the melee around me. Elves stacked head to toe in plate and chain mail were going man-to-man with ghouls and winning. But then the robed men, the necromancers, followed behind the ghouls and launched bolts of their shadow magic at the elves. They dropped like flies, and the ravenous ghouls swarmed over them.

The abominations smashed aside houses and buildings like they were not even there. They cleared the way for bounding and groaning ghouls, who snarled at the fleeing villagers before pouncing on them. Elves died by the dozens, torn to shreds and devoured by my undead comrades. Comrades that were eagerly eating away at my food! I had to find an elf. Just one, just for me, and I'd leave this shattered homestead happily. Another necromancer caught my eye, the same one that had blessed me before. He noticed me and waved his hand, motioning for me to join him.

"Servant!" he cried. "Come to me! The fun is this way!"

I knew what he had found. More elves, more victims for me to take, more meat for me to feast on. All in the name of The Master, my father, my king, my god. And as always, I was eager to serve. With two quick bounds I was by the necromancer's side, dropping to all fours and searching for a target. He pointed into a nearby house, a construct of stone and straw, and spoke his command. The only command I lived for. Kill everything. Short, simple, and easy to understand. Too easy. Another leap took me beside the door. I let out my battle cry and tore it down with a few swipes, shoving the debris aside as I leapt into the room. This was a dwelling, a home for a family of innocents. There would be no armored knights here. Here I could find food.

I spotted the first elf after he saw me, and only because he had decided it would be a good idea to impale me on his spear. Ha! The elf could butcher me all he liked, he would not kill me. And in close quarters such as this, I was on top. One, two, four blows from my claws, and the elf was on the ground, dying pitifully trying to push his ribcage back inside his chest. There was another, female type, screaming something. Sounded like a name. Wasn't mine, and she was no necromancer. So I walked forward, grabbed her throat, and threw her straight up into the ceiling. Hard. I could hear her neck snap against the beam before her body fell back to the floor.

"Stop it!"

Whoops. Missed one. Another elf, younger, female, cowering under a table. Whatever. Perfection is practiced, not given. So I walked over and slapped the table aside. That strength, that power, never ceased to amaze me. But speed was not one of my virtues. The girl scampered from under the table and ran up a nearby staircase. I eyed the landing above me and crouched, coiling my legs under me and leaping ten feet straight up into the air. I cleared the banister and went on my hands and legs again, searching for the girl.

Found her! She was watching me from behind a door, teary eyes wide with horror and fear. She would be mine. I'd grab her head in my hands and crush it like a grape and let her brains run down into my mouth –

Something was wrong. I snarled again and tried to push forward, but my body would not respond. I was frozen, paralyzed, completely unable to move. And in light of this revelation I felt…relief.

_Won't…_

The whispers came again, provoking me. This child was prey, food to quench my constant hunger and cravings. I wanted her more than I had ever wanted anything my entire unlife. She was _right there_, shivering and moaning, too scared to run. Two steps and she'd be mine.

One step. Then…

_NO I WILL NOT KILL HER._

Hold up.

Confusion.

What am I doing here again?

_I am a paladin. I am the Light._

I?

_You can't break me._

**OBEY.**

_You can't - _

**OBEY.**

Two steps. Hands reached out, and the girl screamed –

I roared out and backed away, all the way to the stairs. My arms lashed out, smashing the banister to pieces and nearly sending me over the edge. There was a loud snap as my left arm broke against the wall. The pain was excruciating. But it did not matter. I'd kill myself before I laid a hand on that girl.

"YOU CAN'T BREAK ME!"

The first words I'd spoken in over a year. My first defiant cry against The Master. It was glorious. That was my song. I had overcome him. I was free.

**OBEY.**

I found myself on my legs, slowly walking towards that girl. One step. Two steps. Three steps. And now I was opening the door.

_NONONONONONONONONONONO - _

Her screams felt like her father's spear, punching through me in front of untold agony. And as I lifted her up and sank my teeth into her torso, I was screaming just as loud. For with my brief moment of freedom had come memories. I remember my friends and family. I remember my fellow soldiers and brothers at arms. Dead, all dead, all dead by my hand. All in service to The Master. My father, my king, my god, my slaver.

**OBEY.**


	2. Chapter 1: Survival of the Fittest

**MALLES**

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><p>The man clutched the bag close to his chest as he walked down the muddy Hearthglen street. It may have been to protect the contents of the bag from the rain, but more than likely he was worried about losing it. Food was scarce this spring. After the Scourge had nearly wiped out the town that fall, then returned in the winter to begin ransacking Lordaeron and start what people were now calling the Third War, resources became hard to come by. Those families that survived that winter were reduced to scrounging. It was not uncommon for a belly to go unfilled for days.<p>

But this man was smiling. The town governor, Lord Fordring, was a man of wealth and power, and a goodly, Light-worshipping gentlemen. He began releasing his personal stocks to the townspeople, food rations meant to feed a family of three for the week. With the pre-war population, this would have been impossible to do. But now….

Well, now there were much less mouths to feed.

Living mouths, anyway. Wandering packs of zombies and platoons of Scourge ghouls prowled the country side, spreading Plague wherever they went. The flora and fauna were not more immune to the Plague's effects than humans and dwarves were. Travelers and refugees never lasted long, and their bodies only added to the problem. Every member of the living the undead took down bolstered their own forces. Those zombies were once people. Those ghouls were what happened when necromancers got a hold of them and exposed them to more potent, powerful Plague. The Scourge was taking over nearby farms, converting the farmers and tenants and replacing the crops with great cauldrons of smoking sludge that spread Plague across the entire area. That's where all the crops went. Dead in their own fields and surrounded by bloodthirsty unloving monsters.

Welcome to the scenic forested country of Lordaeron. Where the dead are about to outnumber the living and the only things worth eating are whatever you can safely cut the rot off of. But today, there would be no scraps for this man. Today…no, this week, he would eat. He could spread this food across several days. His belly would be filled.

Or so he thought.

I watched as he walked near my alley, oblivious to my presence. This guy was no spring chicken. He walked with a limp, an old wound from years past, and there was more grey than brown in his months-old beard. His left hand was twisted in what I recognized as arthritis. He was elderly, or close enough to it, and crippled. Hearing and vision was probably starting to go too. That I could not be sure of, but I was hoping the sound of the rain hitting the ground would mask my footsteps.

There. He passed the opening and continued on, completely overlooking me. I gripped my knife, did a three-count, then moved. I slipped behind the man and wrapped my left arm around his mouth. He let out a muffled yell of surprise and started to struggle, trying to get lose. But my grip was solid, and I had back up. My right hand, my knife hand, came around his waist and poked the blade against his left kidney. I jabbed him hard enough to hurt. He stopped moving after that.

"Drop the bag."

He moaned. I pricked him with the knife again. He squirmed as the blade pierced his skin. "Now!"

The old man released the bag. I half-dragged, half-walked him backwards away from it, then turned him towards the alley and let go. Before he could turn around I shoved him into the wall and held the knife out at him. The point was red. "Stay."

"HELP!" he shouted. "Thieves! Thie-!"

I ran forward and grabbed his head again. This time, though, I did not gag him. There was a loud thud as the back of his skull hit the wall behind him, and he dropped, stunned. I knelt in front of him and stuck the knife into his nose.

"Not another damn word," I said. "Not a one. You're making this harder than it has to be."

"You – "

I punched him. "Stay put, or I'll make you stay put."

I went to get the bag. But the old man didn't take the hint. "You must be so proud," he said. "Attacking and robbing an honest man." But I ignored him. As long as he did not start yelling for help again, I had no problems with him. I went to his bag and opened it, checking inside.

Jackpot. Three loaves of bread and a whole bushel of apples. Someone somewhere was looking out for me. I smiled slightly and I closed the bag back up. This was worth the effort. My family would be set for weeks. I shouldered the bag and walked past the man, who glared at me from his seat. I went to a nearby garbage can, opened it, and drew another bag of food.

Lord Fordring's hospitality had not gone unnoticed. I was perfectly aware of his charity and I was taking full advantage of it. But I saw the crowds lining up for the food. I saw the stocks myself, after some sneaking around. And Lord Fordring's stores were not going to last long. Not long at all. Trying to feed everyone in this town would be using a bucket brigade on a forest fire. It would help, it would stop the fire, but the fire would still burn at the end of the day. People were going to starve, and people were going to die. And I refused to let my family starve, for any reason.

"Please…" the man moaned. "I have a daughter. She's sick."

I shouldered both bags and walked past him. "Your problem. Not mine."

I made it to the end of the alley and looked both ways. No witnesses. Perfect. I blew rain-soaked hair out of my face and started walking.

I heard a scrape behind me. I turned around, saw movement, then felt pain. Something hit me in the side of the head and dropped me. I went down, hard, against the wall and slid down it. The bags dropped. I rolled over, wincing and holding my head, then felt another hit. When my senses finally cleared, the old man was straddling my waist and holding a rock. He raised it over his head with both hands and a roar.

My knife came up and went straight into his neck. His roar turned ended in a gurgled moan as he rolled off of me. I took his rock and slammed it into his head. Then I hit him again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Finally I threw the rock away and retrieved the bags. The old man had hit me good. I was bleeding from a large cut on the side of my head. Most of the moisture on my head was my blood. I could see it dripping into the mud as the rain washed it off. But the rain wasn't doing much for my hand. I tied the bags together and draped them across my neck, then I went to get my knife. It took some effort to get out. When I finally pulled the knife out of him, his body rolled with it and his shattered face stared up at me.

Accused me. Judged me.

I couldn't take it.

"Dumbass!" I kicked him. "You had a daughter! All you had to do was go back tomorrow for more food. Now you're dead and so is she. Over bread!"

The old man didn't have much to say to that. And honestly, neither did I. If I were a better man, I'd bury him. If I were a better man, I'd find his daughter and give her the bag, and break the news to her. Hell, if I'd been a better man, I'd have offered a trade for the food.

But I am not a better man. And I have a family to feed too. My family would not starve, for any reason.

Any reason.


	3. Chapter 2: Alone

**Added 9/23/2012**

**This story is going to jump around between the perspectives of Malles and Jensine. I might come back and rewrite this just because it's not as long or detailed as I'd like. But I'm tired now so screw it.**

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><p><strong>JENSINE<strong>

Lately I have been starting to hate this house.

It was always dark, even during the day. It became that way after Malles went and moved all the furniture to cover up the windows and the door. The only entrance inside was from a hole in the rooftop he had knocked out and attached a trap door to. The door itself was covered with a heavy blanket covered in brush, the same brush that covered the rest of the roof. When Malles was setting it up he said he wanted to make sure no one other than us had the means or motive to come into the house. From outside it looked like a dump, and inside it looked like a fortress. The only real light came from cracks in the walls during the day. We woke up with the sun and went to sleep with it.

More of Malles' rules. Don't go outside without him, and never go out at night. Don't talk to anybody, don't tell anyone where we're staying, what we're doing. Always pull the blanket over the door before closing it. Everything he came up with and swore up and down it was how Papa would have done it. But neither of us really knew what Papa wanted. Because Papa was dead.

Or worse. We were only told he had been killed outside the wall. No one told us how or ever brought a body back –

Don't think about it.

Don't think about how you'd never see him again, don't think about what he'd be like if you did. Don't do that or you'll wind up like Mama. Your children will come back from foraging to find you hanging from your neck from the ceiling rafters. Mama thought about it, Malles said, and that's why Mama decided to…

"Opt out." That's the way Malles had put it. Mama could not handle the stress. That's why she got sick during the winter. Why she never got better. Why Malles began fortifying the house and why he told me to try and stay inside as much as possible. Someone needed to be here to watch the house. To make sure nothing happened to it.

But the dead were outside Hearthglen. They were kept at bay by the new wall and the milita always eliminated the ones that got too close. The zombies could not get in. That was why, at first, I had trouble figuring out what Malles was so worried about. The house was barricaded. Malles had Papa's axe, and he left it with me whenever he went out to get our food delivery. It wasn't until Malles began bringing back extra bags of food and lying to me about them that I figured it out. There were people in town who were just as dangerous as the zombies. People who wanted to steal what we had for themselves.

People like my brother.

A year ago my brother was just some punk always getting into trouble and things he wasn't supposed to. I made fun of him. He dreamed of being a big-shot hero someday like Papa was. It made him smile. He wanted to keep Lordaeron safe from orcs. Now, he was keeping himself and I safe from worse. Instead of orcs, we had undead monster who came from nowhere wanting nothing more than to kill us. To eat us, like the forest trolls. Only, unlike trolls, the undead never got tired. They never stopped chasing you. And they were everywhere. Sometimes at night, when I couldn't sleep, I'd go out and climb the wall to look out into the woods and listen for them. The zombies always made noise when they found something to eat. Their moans would echo through the trees as they called their friends to the meal. They would surround their catch and bring it down.

I'd seen it happen. One of the guards patrolling the wall got ambushed and didn't make it back in time. I saw him go down and I watched him get dragged off.

He was weak, Malles had said. Before yelling at me so loud I thought he would hit me. The man was weak, and that was why he was caught. But Malles was strong. I can see that. Malles wanted to protect me. I can see that as well.

But I do think I want Malles protecting me. Not if it means stealing from other people. Letting those people starve and die so we could live. That wasn't right.

Malles had changed. Looking back, I should not have judged him. In less than a night, on the day he became a man, Malles had lost his father in battle against an undead enemy. For all Malles knew, Dad was one of them now. He could have been one of those zombies prowling the forests of Lordaeron right now. Months later, his mother commited suicide. Malles was alone with his sister and had very little means to keep his remaining loved one safe. It scared him. Deeply scared him. Fear and desperation can do things to people. Even good people like my brother. Malles only wanted to be strong, though he would have never admitted it then and probably would not admit it even today. Malles did what he felt needed to be done and made his justifications for it later. All that mattered to him was my survival and his. Nothing else. Nothing.

I should have said something. Maybe, if I had said something sooner, what happened later could have been prevented. Maybe then I could have kept my brother.

But I didn't.

So when Malles dropped from the ceiling with two bags of provisions, I ignored my anger and took one from him. I turned, put it aside, turned back to face him, and stared.

"Hush," he muttered. "It's not that bad."

"Malles, you're entire face is bleeding!"

"I tripped." Another lie. "It's raining, and the street was slippery."

He sat down on the dirt floor and ripped open his bag. He pulled from it a loaf of bread and took a large bite from it. I watched him.

He motioned at the other bag. "Eat, Jen."

"No."

Malles attacked his loaf of bread again. "You need to. We haven't had anything in a few days."

"I'm not hungry."

"Suit yourself." Malles ate about half the loaf and put the rest aside. He stood, stretched, and went back to the trapdoor. "I'm going to wash my face. Be right back."

I reached into his bag of food and looked inside. I saw an apple, grabbed it, and threw it at him. It bounced off the back of his head and broke into pieces on the floor. He whirled around and glared at me, rubbing his head. He almost said something, but he never would. I walked up and slapped him.

"So when were you planning on telling me what really happened?"

I didn't yell. I didn't have the energy anymore. A year had passed since the undead attacked Hearthglen. So much had changed since then. My parents were dead, and my brother might as well be. A rage took me. My hand balled into a fist and I threw it at his face.

Malles reached out, slapped my punch aside, and shoved me. Hard. I toppled backward onto my butt. I curled up into a ball, expecting him to attack me. He was going to hurt me, hurt me like he hurt other people –

"Jensine."

I looked up at him. Malles was holding another apple out to me. His face was still bloody, but expressionless.

"Please just eat."

"No."

Malles looked away for a second. I moved back away from him, but Malles just went over to the far wall and sat back against it. He took a bite of the apple and stared up at the ceiling. I think he was trying to avoid looking at me.

Too bad. "Malles." He ignored me. I continued. "What happened?"

"He fought back."

I got up and went over to him. I plopped down beside him and leaned against his shoulder.

"I pushed him against a wall and took his food. He snuck up on me with a rock and clocked me in the face."

I took the apple from him and began eating it. He let me. His hands were shaking. "But," I whispered, "you made it back. And now we can eat. It's okay."

"No it's not."

"Malles – "

"He kept coming at me." Malles cut me off. "He just kept coming. And then I was down, and he was straddling me, and I panicked, and…" He trailed off.

I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and hugged him close. "Malles. It's fine. You're okay now."

He got quiet for a while. I figured he had calmed down. I continued eating my apple and listened to the rain outside.

"Jen…I killed him."

I looked at him. Malles looked back. His eyes were wet. "I took my knife and I stuck it in him. And I did it again. And I didn't stop until he did."

Oh.

Well, that explained why he was so secretive about his face. But I really had nothing to say to that. What were you supposed to say when you found out your own brother killed somebody over bread and fruit?

"It's okay Malles."


End file.
